


You Lit the Flame

by Comicbooklovergreen, WildnessBecomesYou



Category: Ratched (TV)
Genre: (but the good kind), Angst, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff, Mentions of past abuse, PTSD, but like...slow burn to smut, confused baby bottom gay mildred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:21:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27028762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Comicbooklovergreen/pseuds/Comicbooklovergreen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildnessBecomesYou/pseuds/WildnessBecomesYou
Summary: Mildredwantsto have sex with Gwendolyn, she really does.That's alright, though, Gwendolyn can wait. Gwendolyn is patient.
Relationships: Gwendolyn Briggs/Mildred Ratched
Comments: 97
Kudos: 388





	1. Realized I Need You Here--

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Comicbooklovergreen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Comicbooklovergreen/gifts).



> Hi hello sorry for the delay! Delicate subject requires a little more intensity, but this was getting so long (and will continue to be) that I just had to give y'all something. 
> 
> The lovely Comicbooklovergreen came up with this idea, I must give her credit for that :) 
> 
> I think we're good without any specific warnings for this chapter. Actual smut incoming! This picks up pretty much directly after Kiss Me Once, Kiss Me Twice, if you're interested in that. Title of the work from the song "Woke the F*ck Up" by Jon Bellion, and no, I don't have that album on repeat right now, what...? (It's a very Mildolyn song, y'all should check it out.)

“Please unpack,” Mildred repeats, and it shakes Gwendolyn out of her reverie for a moment. 

“Un—? Oh.” She sees the half-packed suitcase over Mildred’s shoulder. “No, I…I can unpack.” But she holds Mildred close, an arm around her waist and the other hand framing her face. Mildred looks up at her, lipstick smeared across her mouth, little pinkish dots across her cheeks. 

And she smiles. The younger woman is beautiful this way. She’s always beautiful, every time Gwendolyn sees her, she’s glorious and radiant and wonderful. But her face covered in the little marks of Gwendolyn’s love is a new look, and one Gwendolyn likes. 

“Gwendolyn?” It’s such a shy sound, and Gwendolyn’s heart races for a moment with the echoes of it. 

“Hello,” she murmurs back, and Mildred smiles, gives a little giggle. 

She holds onto Gwendolyn a little tighter. “What do we do now?” She’s almost scared, and Gwendolyn doesn’t want her to be, despite everything. She doesn’t want Mildred to fear anything ever again. 

But that’s a bit much to say, in this moment, this early on, and Gwendolyn doesn’t want to be the cause of Mildred’s fear. So instead, she asks, “What would you like to do?” 

And Mildred is shy. “I’d like to kiss you again.” 

The thought makes Gwendolyn smile, and she leans back into those fragile hands. She tilts Mildred’s head up, presses a gentle kiss to her lips, and smiles again when Mildred pushes up on her tiptoes. She’s chasing after Gwendolyn. But Gwendolyn grasps Mildred’s chin in her hand, holds her back gently. 

Mildred pouts. She actually pouts, and Gwendolyn laughs, actually laughs. She pulls Mildred by the hands to the couch, sits them both down on the couch, and cradles Mildred’s face in her hands. She presses kiss after kiss to Mildred’s lips, until Mildred has gone soft in her arms, her eyes closed, and Gwendolyn wonders if she’s ever been this relaxed before. 

And at that point, she just holds Mildred, feels her breathing. 

It’s a long time before Mildred speaks. When she does, it’s quiet, almost sleepy. “When do we…?”

Gwendolyn is confused for a moment. And then it hits her, and the pit that usually sits in the back of her throat where guilt and shame should be drops to her stomach. “Mildred…” 

Mildred braces herself against Gwendolyn, takes a deep and shuddering breath. “We should, right?” 

“We don’t have to,” Gwendolyn says. It’s firm. She’s not going to push this. She doesn’t want the lines to blur, the ones between past and present, between fear and security. She wants Mildred to feel safe with her, always, because she will protect her. 

Mildred’s face relaxes into relief. Gwendolyn pulls her close, and she fits so snugly against her chest and under her chin that she wonders if this woman has been moulded just to fit her. There’s another quiet moment before Mildred says, “Don’t you want to?”

Gwendolyn sighs. Mildred’s fingers tighten against the loose parts of her shirt. “I mean, honestly, yes, Mildred, I would like to have sex with you.” She pauses, has to twist a little to get Mildred to look at her. “Eventually. When thinking about it doesn’t make you shake like this.” 

“I’m not…” but Mildred can’t deny it. The longer she dwells on it, the more the nerves get a hold of her, and she can’t physically hold back the trembling. 

“You know what I would like to do?” Gwendolyn asks. Mildred looks up at her. “I would like for you to pour us a drink while I unpack.”

And Mildred does, watches Gwendolyn simply fold her suitcase back up and move up the stairs. She follows with their glasses of bourbon— good stuff, which doesn’t surprise her, really— and watches Gwendolyn smooth out clothes, tuck them in drawers and hang them in a wardrobe. She watches Gwendolyn’s fingers and bites her lip, clears her throat slightly. 

Gwendolyn turns back to her, smiling, and reaches for her glass. She takes a sip and lifts her eyebrows. “Careful with that,” she chuckles, “it can be very dangerous.” 

Mildred swallows thickly. “Oh?”

Gwendolyn chuckles again. She finishes unpacking her suitcase, shuts the blasted thing, tucks it away in the bottom of the wardrobe. She moves to sit on the bed— and Mildred freezes. 

The alcohol, the bedroom, Gwendolyn holding her hand out and beckoning her close. She bites her lip and covers herself up by crossing her arms. 

“Come sit,” Gwendolyn says, “that’s all. Just sit with me.” 

Mildred nods, takes another sip of her drink for courage. She joins Gwendolyn on the bed, and Gwendolyn brushes her fingers against Mildred’s. 

“I was serious, earlier,” Gwendolyn murmurs. Mildred makes a small questioning sound. “I’m fine waiting. I promise, I am, I could— well.” Mildred is startled to see Gwendolyn blush. “I want you to feel safe. I want your— our,” she corrects, and Mildred slips their hands together and squeezes lightly. “I want our first time to be good for you.” 

Mildred feels a blush spread across her cheeks. “And if I can’t? Wait, I mean,” she says quickly, scrambling to make sure Gwendolyn understands. It isn’t that she doesn’t want Gwendolyn; she does, very much so. 

And Gwendolyn smiles, reaches down and presses a kiss to her cheek. “We can go as far as feels safe to you, darling.” 

Mildred swallows. And then she downs the rest of her bourbon, swallows again, gritting her teeth against the burn of it. “Woah, slow down there,” Gwendolyn laughs, and Mildred takes her bourbon too, downs what little is left of it. “Hey! Mm-“

Mildred crushes their lips together, and she’s still fairly clumsy, but she’s learning quickly. Gwendolyn softens against her, wraps her arms around Mildred’s waist and tugs her close. Mildred melts for a moment; Gwendolyn is so warm, and she tastes like rum and something earthy, and she’s so soft. And then it hits her—

She won’t have this forever. 

And the panic rises. She sucks in a breath— _and I don’t have long_ — and hooks her fingers into Gwendolyn’s trousers, thumbs on either side of the belt buckle. Gwendolyn’s fingers are on the small of her back, in her hair, and something in her burns with it, wants the fingers elsewhere— 

But the panic keeps rising. 

Gwendolyn pushes against her, then pulls back suddenly. Mildred tries to follow, but a thumb to her bottom lip stops her. “Mildred, we don’t have to go there tonight.” Mildred opens her mouth, closes it, opens it again. “We have time.” 

Mildred isn’t convinced. But Gwendolyn is, and her eyes shine down at Mildred, and she knows she’s not going to win this battle. Not when Gwendolyn is this focused, has told her no this many times. So she reaches up and runs her fingers through Gwendolyn’s curls, watches how her eyes close with pleasure. She kisses her again, and again, and again, until they’re both sleepy and barely staying upright. 

“If you’re going to go home,” Gwendolyn mumbles, lips so close to Mildred’s that they touch with nearly every consonant, “you should probably get going. So you get some decent sleep.” 

Mildred nuzzles against her for a moment, and then the words process, and she sits up straight, blinking away the feeling. “Oh.” 

“I’m not kicking you out,” Gwendolyn says, “I’m just letting you know I will probably be fast asleep soon.” 

Mildred pushes herself back, scoots off the bed, smoothing the fabric of her skirt. “I, uhm. Well, I guess I’ll get going.” 

Gwendolyn smiles, and it’s genuine, and holds out a hand as she rises. “I’ll walk you to the door.” 

Mildred takes her hand, and they walk with fingers laced until she’s at the door, and then Gwendolyn walks her to her car— the older woman’s hand is at the small of her back and the moment Mildred is in her seat she misses the warmth. 

“Can I come over tomorrow morning?” Mildred asks. 

Gwendolyn furrows her brow. “Don’t you have work?”

Mildred bites her lip. “My day off is tomorrow.”

“Oh!” Mildred looks back up at Gwendolyn, and the older woman is smiling. “Yes. I’ll have things out for breakfast. Do you like danishes?”

Mildred has no idea, but she nods with a smile. 

Gwendolyn looks around her, checking up and down the street, then leans down to press a sweet little kiss to Mildred’s lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then,” she murmurs, and Mildred realizes her eyes are still closed. 

“Mmm. Yes.”

She watches Gwendolyn go back inside before she starts up the car, waves shyly to her when she turns for one last goodnight. 

And as she pulls away, her mind begins to race. 

Good lord, she’d kissed Gwendolyn. Many times. And she’d _liked_ it. She’d wanted to keep kissing her, keep touching her; she’d wanted Gwendolyn to touch her, too, keep running her fingers over her body, keep sparking that odd electric feeling in her veins. She wanted more. 

And she knew what more meant; she’d engaged in that more while thinking of Gwendolyn. But it hadn’t been Gwendolyn, it hadn’t mattered then. Now it matters, and it’s worse because she has no idea how to do this. She’d known how to lay with a man, known exactly the steps and routine, but a woman? 

_Gwendolyn?_

She has no idea how to have sex with women. She has even less of an idea how to make love to a woman, with a woman— at a woman? She doesn’t even know what the correct terminology is. What is she supposed to use? What is it supposed to feel like? How is she supposed to know if she’s doing things right, or wrong, or—

She slams on the brake at a stoplight, squeezing her eyes shut. She focuses in on the feeling of the car moving beneath her, the pain in her knuckles, the flex of her foot on the pedal. 

What if she did it wrong?

What if it hurt? 

The rest of her ride back to her hotel feels numb, and she’s not sure what she’s really doing until she’s laying in bed, completely unable to sleep. She keeps replaying the moment Gwendolyn kissed her, and the moment Gwendolyn pushed her hands away, and the moment Gwendolyn kissed her again in the car. The scenes rotate before her eyes until she’s picking them apart piece by piece— could she have tilted her head differently? If she’d waited a moment longer, would Gwendolyn have allowed her fingers to tug the belt off? Why didn’t Gwendolyn ask her to stay? 

It all builds until she can’t take it anymore, wraps a coat around herself, and slips into the hall. Louise is asleep in her chair, tilted back, mouth open and choking snores. Mildred wrinkles her nose and gingerly picks up the phone, moves back down the hall towards her room. She actually almost gets there before the wire pulls taught. Before she can stop herself, she’s dialled Gwendolyn’s number. 

“Mgh. Hello?”

She sounds so sleepy, so tired, and Mildred wonders if her hair is down or whether she’d changed into a nightgown. “I— hello.”

“Mildred?” She suddenly sounds more awake. “Are you alright?”

“Oh, yes,” Mildred says quickly, “Just wanted to…let you know I got back alright.”

“Ah,” Gwendolyn says, relieved. “Good. That’s good.” 

There’s silence for a few moments, and Mildred toes at the ground as it stretches on. 

“Mildred?”

“What? Oh, yes, sorry, uhm, I should let you get to bed,” she starts to ramble. 

“Mmm.” Gwendolyn yawns on the other end. “Mildred?” 

“Yes?”

“I was thinking of you too. I’ll see you in the morning. Sleep well, darling.”

“Oh.” She feels warmth spread through her chest, and it’s different than the burning of the bourbon earlier. “Oh, you too. Goodnight.” 

Gwendolyn hangs up the phone and Mildred listens to the empty air for a moment. She returns the phone quickly, then bolts back to her room and practically throws herself in bed. 

A giggle forces its way out of her throat, and then she’s giggling madly, covering her face with her hands and wriggling on top of the sheets because she can’t keep still. 

Gwendolyn had been thinking of her! 

In the morning, Mildred showers and picks out a robin’s-egg blue dress, pairs it with a cherry red scarf and black heels. She curls her hair, paints on her lipstick, powders her face lightly. A spritz of perfume to her wrist gets rubbed between them, then pressed to the crook of her neck. 

She catches herself in the mirror, and she does look good. She can see the curves of her own frame, the leanness of her muscles, the flare of her hips, the soft rise of her breast. There’s a voice in her head that tells her she looks good, and for once she believes it. 

She speeds off towards Gwendolyn’s house, and when she arrives, she can feel her heart beating as if she’d run the entire way. The house looks so different now— bright, welcoming, clean and warm, ages from the imposing and terrifying spectre it had been just yesterday. She takes a deep breath and lets it out shakily, then parks the car and steps out. 

The walkway seems long, but she clicks along it at a steady pace, lifts her hand and knocks at the front door, just below the window. 

The door opens almost immediately, and Gwendolyn is barefoot, pajama pants mismatched with a silky under-suit shell. Her hair is down, curls framing her face like a halo, and she hasn’t a drop of makeup on. 

“Oh,” Gwendolyn says, and she sounds breathless. “Well, I feel just a bit underdressed.” 

Mildred bites her lip, and Gwendolyn wraps an arm around her, tugs her inside and closes the door behind her. They’re eye-level with each other like this— when Mildred has heels on and Gwendolyn is barefoot— and Mildred easily wraps her arms around Gwendolyn’s shoulders. 

“Hello,” Gwendolyn murmurs, eyes flicking between Mildred’s and her lips. Mildred leans into it.

She’s warm, and the kiss is sweet, and Mildred doesn’t want her to ever stop. She presses herself up close against Gwendolyn and is granted a happy little hum. 

But she does pull back, grinning at Mildred, and it’s contagious. 

“Good morning,” Mildred rasps, and Gwendolyn laughs. 

“Good morning, indeed! Come on, how do you like your coffee?” 

It’s almost painful to be parted from Gwendolyn, but she lets the older woman lead her to the kitchen table, pour her a cup of coffee and add the sugar and cream. She’s fascinated to learn that Gwendolyn takes her coffee black.

She likes the apple danishes. She thinks the cherry ones are far too sweet, and the cheese danishes are a little confusing. But she enjoys breakfast, enjoys watching Gwendolyn sort through the danishes. She chooses mostly cheese ones, though she’ll occasionally reach for an apple danish. Neither of them have much of the cherry danishes. 

“Tell me something,” Gwendolyn says around a mouthful.

Mildred swallows, waiting for a further prompt. But there isn’t one, and the silence sits longer than she thinks it should. She takes a sip of coffee, then asks, “Anything?”

Gwendolyn nods. “Anything.”

“Oh, uhm…” she toys with the handle of her mug for a moment. “I don’t know how to swim.”

Gwendolyn’s eyes light up and she gasps. “Well, we shall have to change that!”

Mildred sends a shy smile her way, and the conversation is easy from there. Helping Gwendolyn with the dishes feels so normal, like something she’s done for years, and the shiver that runs up her back when Gwendolyn’s hand brushes against her hip is delicious. 

Eventually, Gwendolyn moves to the living room, picking up the morning paper and settling on the couch. Mildred follows, leaning against the doorway, trying to work up her courage for her next move. Gwendolyn looks up from the couch with a smile. “Have you got any interest in the paper?” 

Mildred pushes herself off the doorway, moves to stand in front of Gwendolyn. She looks up at Mildred, gentle questioning on her face, and Mildred’s heart can’t stop racing. Her hands are shaking, but she doesn’t want Gwendolyn to see that, so she takes the paper out of Gwendolyn’s hands and sets it aside. 

“Mildred?”

She climbs into Gwendolyn’s lap, straddling her hips, wrapping her arms around Gwendolyn’s shoulders. Her hands land on Mildred’s hips and Mildred’s courage spikes— she leans down and presses their lips together, and Gwendolyn lets out a little sound of delight, and Mildred feels like she’s done something right. Gwendolyn nips at her lip and she sucks a breath in through her nose, lets her mouth drop open just slightly, feels Gwendolyn surge up against her. 

Mildred grinds down with her hips before she can think about it. Gwendolyn’s hands tighten on her hips, and the older woman gasps in a short breath, and Mildred wonders if she’s messed up. But then Gwendolyn is tugging her closer, one hand slipping to Mildred’s thigh. 

So Mildred tries it again. She grinds down, and it feels good when she does, and Gwendolyn lets out a low moan that rumbles through her. Another nip to her lip is soothed with a swipe of a tongue, and Mildred wants more, she wants Gwendolyn to consume her, and she’s burning—

Gwendolyn’s hand slides up her thigh, just under Mildred’s skirt, and she’s suddenly ice cold. 

Gwendolyn notices, and her hand lifts from Mildred’s thigh to brace against her jaw as she pulls away. Mildred can’t help the whine that escapes her throat. If she can just push through all this, if she can do it once, it won’t be so bad the next time. 

“It’s alright,” Gwendolyn murmurs, presses a kiss to Mildred’s left cheek. “We don’t have to rush.”

Mildred huffs in frustration, and Gwendolyn chuckles at her. “We have all the time in the world, don’t we?”

And Mildred wants to say yes. She’d been the one to insist they would. But there’s fear at the core of her— what if she can’t find the right doctor? What if Gwendolyn bores of her? What if she isn’t enough for Gwendolyn? 

“What’s going on in that brain?” Gwendolyn asks, and she’s looking up at Mildred, one hand at the small of her back and the other tucking a loose hair behind her ear. “Hmm?” 

Mildred bites at her lip again. “I’m just… I want…”

She can’t voice it, not really, but the look in Gwendolyn’s eyes tells her it’s alright, she understands. Gwendolyn pulls at Mildred’s neck until their foreheads are touching, keeps her there for a few breaths. 

Mildred’s back is starting to hurt, so she sits up, stretches her arms up lightly. She hears the hitch in Gwendolyn’s breath and feels her face heat up— she must be bright red— and snaps her arms back down, swings herself off Gwendolyn’s lap to sit next to her. 

They sit in silence— a mildly awkward one— until Gwendolyn reaches for Mildred’s hand at the same time as she picks the paper back up. She opens the paper with one hand, like she’s done it that way for years, and tucks Mildred’s hand in hers to rest atop her thigh. 

It’s comfortable. It feels safe, and it feels like they’ve done this before. 

So she shuffles closer, until their sides are pressed together and Gwendolyn is smiling without looking at her. She leans her head on Gwednolyn’s shoulder and reads along. 

“They’re doing _what_ with the grape vines?"


	2. --As Desperate as That Sounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen is patient. Mildred is trying. There's a big stumble, but they get through it together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY here it is! It's...so much longer than the first chapter, my goodness. 
> 
> I'm marking Comicbooklovergreen as a co-creator here because we had a conversation that led to practically writing one of these scenes together, and it feels wrong to literally take her words without giving her credit. So there! 
> 
> The events here overlap with Everything About You is So-- Smart and Faults, end slightly before The Pip, just to give everyone an idea of where we are. Chapter title is again from "Woke the F*ck Up" by Jon Bellion. 
> 
> Also, the Monterey Library really was a thing! It was first created in 1849 (!!) and was in the location it is in this fic (700 Laine Street) from 1931 to 1954. WILD!! 
> 
> Hope you enjoy :)

They stay cuddled on the couch as they finish the paper, and Mildred only somewhat feels disappointed when Gwendolyn squeezes her hand and rises from the couch. “I’m going to get another cup of coffee. Would you like one?” 

Mildred scrunches her nose. “Mmm, no, I don’t think so.” 

Gwendolyn smiles back at her, moves towards the kitchen. She’s out of Mildred’s view by the time she calls, “Can I get you anything else? Juice?” 

Mildred pushes herself up, follows the path Gwendolyn has just taken. “I can get some myself— where are your glasses?” 

They putter around the kitchen like this, and Mildred is struck by how natural it feels. She doesn’t know where most of the things are, but she can make guesses and usually be correct. Gwendolyn walks past her and brushes at her hips, her back, her shoulders with her fingers and it feels good. It feels like it’s been happening for years. 

And she wants it to last forever. 

“What do you want to do today?” Gwendolyn asks, sipping at her second cup of coffee. 

_This, forever._

“I was thinking,” Mildred starts, stops and crosses her arms over her chest as she leans back against the counter. “Well, I’d like to do some reading. Some medical journals.” 

Gwendolyn’s smile softens into something nostalgic and wistful. Mildred chews on the inside of the corner of her mouth and looks down. “Sure,” she says quietly, and Mildred looks back up to her. “There’s the library in Monterey, we could drive down.” 

Mildred smiles. It’s a real smile, and she hasn’t felt a real smile in so long. “Maybe we could have oysters for dinner.” 

Gwendolyn guffaws at her, and the strange damper over the kitchen resolves. She pushes off the counter where she’s standing, takes a sip of her coffee, and says, “Well, I’ll at least need to put trousers on.” 

Mildred follows her wordlessly— she likes this house, but the natural homeyness she’d been feeling was all Gwendolyn. It doesn’t occur to her until she’s sitting on the bed that Gwendolyn may have been asking for time alone. 

But when she looks to her, Gwendolyn smiles, reaching for a suit jacket and a pair of trousers. The suit jacket gets laid out gently next to Mildred, and then she strides back off towards a tall wicker basket. For a moment, Mildred follows her with her eyes, and then Gwendolyn’s thumbs hook into the waistband of her pajama pants. 

Mildred whips her head away, looking up to the ceiling, certain she’s bright red. 

She hadn’t meant to be rude. She hadn’t really been thinking Gwendolyn would just _take her clothes off_ in front of her. 

“Mildred?” She jumps slightly, glances back over. “Oh, you—“ Gwendolyn cuts herself off with a laugh, covers her mouth with her hand and Mildred waves frantically in front of her face. “Goodness, I’m sorry,” she starts, striding back over towards Mildred. 

She’s still laughing a little when her hands find Mildred’s face and guide her gaze upwards. Mildred thinks she might be seeing an angel, the way she’s lit up in the morning sun of the bedroom, the golden glow of her strawberry-blonde hair, the way the lines by her eyes deepen with her smile. Her voice is honey-gold, sparkling. “You’re allowed to look, you know.” 

Mildred swallows. Gwendolyn presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth with a chuckle. 

At the library, Mildred has half a mind to research whether one can become addicted to another another person; it’s the longest she’s been physically parted from Gwendolyn save the deep night, and she finds she absolutely hates it. But she finds some research on cancers of the breast, names of doctors who have found success in new techniques, numbers of doctors to call. 

They go to a diner rather than the oyster bar. Gwendolyn wrinkles her nose at the sandwich Mildred orders, and Mildred giggles at it. She giggles quite a lot actually— when their fingers brush, when Gwendolyn taps at her leg with her toe in a half-scold for the bad joke she’s told, when Gwendolyn gets hiccups. 

In the car, Gwendolyn takes one hand off the wheel, offers it palm up to Mildred. Mildred takes the hand with a smile, holds it in both of hers like it’s a precious thing. 

“Would you like me to take you back to the motel?” 

Mildred reflexively squeezes. “I think I’d like to come back home with you,” she starts, quickly adding “if that’s alright with you.” 

Gwendolyn shoots her a grin. “Of course that’s okay with me. I’d like that very much.” 

They’re barely inside before Gwendolyn is pulling Mildred close, hands on her face as she closes the door with her own back and plants herself there. Mildred’s arms flail out for a moment, and then they settle at Gwendolyn’s shoulders, pressing closer as Gwendolyn’s hands land on her hips. 

“I’ve wanted to do that since we walked into that diner,” Gwendolyn says, lips a breath away from Mildred’s, and Mildred whimpers. 

She wants Gwendolyn to devour her, crack open her chest and take her heart and hold it in her hands— hands that feel safe, that are warm, that are soft. There aren’t words to describe that. So she threads one hand through Gwendolyn’s curls, accidentally untucking some from her bun, pulls her in for another kiss. And Gwendolyn— Gwendolyn, who is everything, who she wants everywhere— smiles against her lips before her hands slide around the small of Mildred’s back and pull her closer. 

She’s been pressed up against Gwendolyn before, but she loves this feeling. Gwendolyn is so warm and soft and — her body fits against Gwendolyn’s, even when they have shoes on, even when they’re barefoot, and she’s never felt this close to someone physically. She thinks if she can get close enough she’ll be able to feel Gwendolyn’s heartbeat. Then, just maybe, she can get her own heartbeat to match, and the world will fall away and all that will matter is the two of them, is Gwendolyn’s breath against her skin. 

Gwendolyn pushes off the door, takes a step forward. Mildred stumbles back slightly, clinging to her, and Gwendolyn is ready; she holds Mildred up, and it seems effortless. There’s shifting against her and then Gwendolyn is somehow below her, and a confused noise slips past her lips. 

“Take off your shoes,” Gwendolyn mutters against her, kicks away her own heels. Mildred looks down and blinks slightly.

She kind of likes being above Gwendolyn. It’s just that Gwendolyn’s knees are bent, but she likes it. 

“Buckles,” she says suddenly, and then Gwendolyn’s lips are on hers again.

“What?” Mildred can barely parse it— not that she really cares, Gwendolyn is kissing her and there’s a fire beginning to burn under her skin. 

“My shoes have buckles,” she clarifies, and Gwendolyn huffs against her. 

“Undo them.” It’s a command, but Mildred doesn’t mind it. It sends a shiver through her as Gwendolyn bends her backwards just slightly, stabilizing her with a leg between her own. She reaches for her shoe, misses completely, then lifts her foot and fumbles with the buckle. 

It doesn’t take long. She tosses the shoe aside, unsure where it goes, puts her foot back down. She and Gwendolyn stumble a bit, unstable on uneven footing, until Gwendolyn’s hand shoots out and braces them both against the back of a chair. Mildred pulls back for a moment, gasping for air, and Gwendolyn drops her forehead to Mildred’s collarbone.

She’s breathing hard too. She’s still holding Mildred up, though, like Mildred is nothing more than a feather. “Take your time,” she rasps between breaths, and Mildred shudders. She hadn’t realized she found that attractive. 

Mildred reaches for her other shoe, fumbles again, but eventually manages to get the damn thing off. 

She wants Gwendolyn to kiss her again. “Oh?” she hears, and it occurs to her that she’s actually said that out loud, and she presses her lips together as Gwendolyn raises her head and smirks at her. Something in her clenches and she shivers again. 

But Gwendolyn follows her request, bringing her back to standing straight before starting to walk her towards the couch. “Top or bottom?” she mutters against her lips. 

“What?”

“Do you want to be on top of me or under me?”

Mildred wants both, really. She’d liked the way it felt yesterday to have Gwendolyn under her. But she also likes when Gwendolyn is all over her, boxing out the rest of the world. Is there a way to have both? The overload freezes her, bouncing the scenarios back in forth in her mind until it’s all she can focus on. 

Gwendolyn pulls back. “Wait, sorry, do you want to stop?”

“No!” It comes out more forcefully than she wants it too, and she squeezes her eyes shut. “N-no, I want to. I just— I don’t know.” Gwendolyn watches her, keeps holding her. There isn’t any judgement in her gaze, so Mildred takes a chance. “Can you choose for me?” 

Gwendolyn smiles at her, places a gentle kiss to her lips. “I'd like to see you under me,” she murmurs, “is that okay?”

“Yes,” Mildred breathes. Gwendolyn kisses her again, then pulls back to watch her face as she walks them back towards the couch. Mildred’s legs hit the couch and she loses balance, expects Gwendolyn will catch them again— but she doesn’t, lets them fall and bounce and settle with Mildred beneath her, Gwendolyn’s arms braced just above her shoulders. 

Mildred sucks in a breath. Gwendolyn shifts her weight to one hand, sits back slightly on her knees as she cups Mildred’s face in her free hand. “Alright?” she asks, her thumb brushing against her cheek. Mildred nods, tilts her chin up, lips parting, and Gwendolyn grins at her, and there’s the sun again. 

Her lips are warm, are sweet, are soft, and Mildred feels so safe. She’s never quite felt this safe, and she wants more. Before she can really think better of it, she tugs at Gwendolyn’s suit jacket, until the button slips open and she suddenly has access to more of Gwen’s warmth. She’s rewarded with Gwendolyn pressing into her hand, lowering her whole self just slightly, and she can feel the heat radiating above her. 

She wants more. 

“Put my hand where you want it,” Gwendolyn says against her, and her hips push into the couch cushions without her control. 

She doesn’t move Gwendolyn’s hand, at first. She leaves it on her cheek— it’s warm, there, and it feels caring, and safe. And Gwendolyn is patient with her. She just presses kiss after kiss to Mildred’s lips. So Mildred reaches up, holds Gwendolyn’s hand to her cheek, breathes deeply under Gwendolyn. Eventually she leans back, just to look at Mildred for a few moments. 

Mildred takes that moment build up her courage. She grips Gwendolyn’s hand, feels her squeeze her fingers to reassure her. And then she places that hand on her waist, and Gwendolyn smiles, rubbing her thumb back and forth over the dress that covers her. “Can I kiss you?” she asks. 

“Please,” Mildred rushes. 

“Other places than your lips?” Gwendolyn clarifies. 

“Oh, uhm…”

“It’s alright if the answer is no,” Gwendolyn murmurs. She squeezes at Mildred’s waist gently. 

“How… uhm, where would you…?” Mildred isn’t quite sure how to say it. 

“Oh,” Gwendolyn chuckles. “Just your neck. Is that okay?” Mildred nods, and Gwendolyn smiles, almost sighs in relief. “Good, that’s good.” 

And she dives in, nuzzles Mildred’s neck just under her jaw, and Mildred’s breath hitches. She wants this, she knows that, she wants this kind of touch and this kind of kiss and this presence above her. So why is her heart speeding up? It doesn’t feel bad, but it’s racing, and when Gwendolyn’s lips finally press against the spot she’s been cherishing, she gasps in for air. Her hand tugs at Gwendolyn’s, moves it up her ribs.

Somehow, Gwendolyn’s hand so near her heart helps it ease. It’s still going fast, but it doesn’t scare her anymore. Gwendolyn starts to trace a line down her neck with kisses, and Mildred shivers. She slides Gwendolyn’s hand over her body until her palm is resting in the middle of her upper abdomen, just under the spot between her breasts. Gwendolyn moves back up her neck and then pulls back. “How was that?” 

“G-“ she chokes on the sound, swallows. “Good.”

“Hmm,” Gwendolyn hums, smiling. Mildred notices her eyes are a few shades darker. She swallows again. “Would you mind if I—“

“Please.” Gwendolyn seems surprised, though happy, at how quickly she’s responded. But she leans across Mildred’s body, nuzzles into the opposite side of her neck. Mildred pulls her hand down her body, until it rests on top of her thigh, and then tries to concentrate on breathing. 

It’s kind of hard, when Gwendolyn is so close, touching her in so many places. She’s a little dizzy with it all. But it feels good, feels like floating, and she gets just a little braver. 

She tugs at her own skirt, pulling it up slightly, and the heel of Gwendolyn’s hand lands on her bare thigh. 

Gwendolyn freezes immediately. Mildred tries to take an even breath. “Mildred?” 

“I— I want—“ she’s not sure she can actually get the words out. “Please.”

Gwendolyn looks conflicted for a moment, but Mildred’s hand finds her wrist and presses her hand down against bare skin. She leans back down to kiss Mildred’s forehead, the tip of her nose, her cheeks, and finally— finally!— her lips. Mildred pushes up against her, lets go of her hand, clings to her waist. And Gwendolyn kisses her, caresses the spot where her hand had been left. 

They stay this way for a while, until the kisses slow and Gwendolyn refuses to go any further without Mildred’s hands on hers. Gwendolyn’s arm bracing her up is shaking a little, and Mildred lets a hand fall to it, caressing the fabric covering it. Eventually, they sit up, and Mildred helps Gwendolyn shrug the blazer off. 

There are more kisses— one interrupted by giggles at a stomach growl indicating it’s time for dinner— before night falls. Gwendolyn watches Mildred pace back and forth, reading a journal she’d managed to check out of the Monterey library. She hasn’t turned the page in a while, longer than she’d spent on any other page. “Did you find something?” she asks, and Mildred looks up. 

“No— well, yes, but, uhm—“ she swallows, then turns to Gwendolyn, takes a deep breath. “I think I would like to spend the night.”

Gwendolyn’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but it softens quickly into a smile. “Okay.”

Mildred looks just as surprised. “Okay?”

Gwendolyn shrugs. “I assume you’ll have an early morning. Probably made earlier by being over here. But I have plenty of sleep clothes, and you’re welcome to stay.” 

Mildred’s shoulders come down before she even realizes she’s been holding them up tight. “I won’t be trying any…” she seems to flounder for a moment, and Mildred can’t help but giggle when she lands with some frustration on “hanky pinky business.” 

Mildred moves over to her, reaches out a shy hand to brush some hair behind her ear. Gwendolyn leans into it. Mildred smiles. 

It’s a quiet night, though by the time the sky has fully darkened, Mildred has a short list of doctors for Gwendolyn to call. Gwendolyn rolls her eyes indulgently and pulls Mildred in for another kiss.

In the morning, Mildred wakes in a bed that’s warm. She reaches over and her hand lands on Gwendolyn’s shoulder. It feels good. 

It’s really during her shift that things go to Hell. She starts thinking about Gwendolyn, which is lovely at first, but then it morphs into nightmarish scenarios. What if Gwendolyn gets bored of kissing and touching where Mildred allows? What if Mildred can’t give Gwendolyn what she wants? What if she’s bad at it? What if there’s something wrong with her? What if Gwendolyn finds her disgusting? What if—?

It’s a long drive home, and she spends it gripping the wheel, wishing she could turn her thoughts off. She slams her car door shut hard enough that, for a moment, she thinks she’s broken it. But it’s fine. 

When she walks inside, Louise waves her down. “You got a call from some lady.”

“Some lady?” she spits. 

Louise rolls her eyes and hands her a note. “Yeah. She said you left something at the office, then left her number.” Louise’s eyes narrow. “Thought you worked at a hospital.”

“Where there are offices for moments when a patient needs paperwork completed or stored,” she snaps. She grabs the phone without asking, and Louise only lets out a scoff, knowing better than to stop Mildred. She makes it all the way around the corner, where she knows Louise won’t be able to hear her and she’ll have a view of anyone coming. 

“Gwendolyn Briggs speaking, who’s this?” 

Mildred feels the fight go out of her body. “Hi, it’s Mildred.”

“Oh!” There’s a slight pause. “I was going to invite you over, but darling, you sound exhausted.” 

“Can I come be exhausted there?” It’s shy, and she is absolutely knackered. But she wants to wake up in a warm bed again. 

There’s a pause on the other end, and Mildred is afraid for a moment that she’ll say no. But instead, she hears, “Have you eaten?”

“No,” she murmurs. “Honestly… I’m not sure I have the energy to cook.”

“I wasn’t asking you to cook,” Gwendolyn says softly, “I was offering to do that for you.”

“Oh.” She runs her hand over her face. “Okay. Uhm, yes, that would be nice.” 

“Alright,” Gwendolyn half-chuckles. “Why don’t you pack a bag?”

So Mildred does. She throws the first things she can find into the bag, pretends she doesn’t hear Louise asking where she’s going. 

Gwendolyn greets her at the door, pulling her inside by her suitcase, setting the bag aside and then wrapping her up in a hug. The house smells delicious, and Mildred is tired and hungry, but she honestly just wants to stay here in Gwendolyn’s arms. 

But Gwendolyn sends her upstairs to unpack, and she finds several hangers left on the bed, one of the drawers left open for her and a little space cleared out there. She smiles as she deposits her things for the morning. Gwendolyn calls up that dinner will be a little longer than she expected, to feel free to shower and change, or lie down for a bit. Mildred chooses the former, and she feels much better after the heat of the shower beats the soreness from her muscles. 

Dinner is good. It’s simple, really, but it’s good. Mildred remembers to grill Gwendolyn on whether she called doctors (she had, and now she’d like Mildred to join the table, not Nurse Ratched). After dinner, they clear the dishes together, work at cleaning up the little bit of mess Gwendolyn had left. 

“Thank you for dinner,” Mildred murmurs, slipping her arms around Gwendolyn’s waist, hoping she’ll take the hint. She does— she kisses Mildred, hand at her jaw softly holding her close. 

“Thank me like that and I’ll cook more often,” she jokes, and despite her exhaustion, Mildred laughs. 

In the morning, when Mildred slowly gets ready for work, Gwendolyn watches her from the bed, propped up on her elbow. “Would you like to come back here after work?” she asks, voice still crackling with sleep. 

Mildred glances over her shoulder as she adjusts her pin rolls. “Sure,” she smiles, “that’d be nice.”

“Take your empty suitcase,” Gwendolyn says. “Just pack another bag.”

Mildred bites her lip against the grin threatening to take over her face. But she knows Gwendolyn sees the way her eyes light up in the mirror from the little, happy huff she lets out before laying down. “When’s your next day off?” 

“Tomorrow.”

“You have Wednesday and Saturday off?”

“Well, not everyone at the hospital can take Saturday and Sunday off.”

“Hmm. Guess so.” 

She’s mostly okay at work, considering she’s started to get jittery about spending all day at Gwendolyn’s again. But the day gets too busy for her to dwell on it all, and she’s relieved that she’d left early enough to pack another bag before work. She’s desperately in want of a shower by the time she gets off, considers going to the patient’s shower room briefly. 

Then she remembers the tub, and for a moment she’s gripped by terror.

But Huck had destroyed the wire again, this time using a pocket knife to cut holes in it that truly look like little mouse bites. It had made Mildred giggle, hand over her mouth, and Huck had winked at her, sticking his tongue between his teeth just slightly. Not that Betsy was prescribing hydrotherapy, but it didn’t hurt to be sure. 

She slides into her car, slumps at the wheel, closing her eyes for just a moment. She’s startled by a knock on the glass, jumps enough to hit her head on the roof of her car. 

“Oof, sorry,” Huck mutters. “I couldn’t catch you on the way out, but I wanted to thank you for your help with Peter before you had tomorrow off.” 

Mildred waves him off. “You don’t have to thank me for doing my job, Huck.” 

“You did more than your job, Mildred. Peter was really shaken up. You did a lot back there. D’ya think…” He takes a deep breath. “D’ya think you could walk me through how you figured out to help him Monday morning?” 

Mildred blinks. “Well, sure.”

“Great, thank you.” He pats the roof of her car gently. “See you after the weekend, have a good one!” 

She pushes the car into drive, sends him a soft smile. “You too, Mister Finnigan.” He grins and waves as she drives away, and she feels a little spot in her heart soften for the man. 

When she gets to Gwendolyn’s home, she’s distinctly aware of the smells that cling to her uniform. She wishes she’d changed beforehand— this isn’t particularly sexy. But Gwendolyn opens the door, tugs her in by the suitcase again, goes to kiss her. 

“Wait,” Mildred says, a hand to Gwendolyn’s chest. “I’ve been victim to projectile vomit in this uniform, and had to hold a very sweaty child after a nightmare. You don’t want to kiss me before I’ve showered.”

Gwendolyn wrinkles her nose, though what comes out of her mouth is, “Well, I still want to kiss you, but…maybe a shower will do you good.” 

Mildred does miss the kiss. But she takes her suitcase upstairs, showers, and unpacks with a towel wrapped around her body. Gwendolyn has left her some hangers again, and she smiles as she slips her clothes onto the hangers and into their new spot in Gwendolyn’s dresser drawers. She slips on the nightgown she’d brought— her blue silk and cream lace number, with the robe to match— and moves downstairs. 

Gwendolyn’s breath hitches as she spots Mildred coming down the stairs. Mildred bites her lip. “Come here,” Gwendolyn beckons from her chair by the window, where there had once been a half-packed suitcase, and Mildred can’t help but go to her. She climbs into Gwendolyn’s lap. “Can I kiss you now?” she asks teasingly. 

Mildred leans down in an answer, framing Gwendolyn’s face in her hands and pressing a kiss to her lips. Gwendolyn’s hands come up to rest on the high point of her hips. She tastes like that same earthy tone, overlaid with the sweetness of apple and minty spice of her cigarettes. And Mildred is exhausted, but she wants more. 

She pulls her head back for a breath and Gwendolyn presses her lips to Mildred’s exposed neck. Mildred can’t stop the little moan that falls from her lips, one hand sliding to the back of Gwendolyn’s neck. Gwendolyn’s teeth scrape at her skin and her hips jerk and oh, God, that feels _good_. She remembers the way this felt last time, grinds down and forward on Gwendolyn’s lap, and one of Gwendolyn’s hands slides over her rump. Her fingers flex, and Mildred tugs Gwendolyn’s lips back to hers, grinding down again with a shaky sigh. 

Something warm is building low in her hips, and Mildred wants more. She reaches one hand behind her, moving the hand still on her hipbone level to the one that’s resting lower. Gwendolyn squeezes and Mildred sucks a breath in through her nose, rolls her hips away and then back towards her hands. 

This time, it’s Gwendolyn who leans back, letting her head thump back against the back of the chair with a “Jesus, Mildred—“ 

Her neck is exposed, and Mildred wants to try, even though she knows it’s going to make her back sore later. She hunches over and presses her lips to Gwendolyn’s neck. She’s rewarded with another squeeze and a groaned “Nngh” noise, and she goes hunting for some perfect spot against her skin. She finds it rather quickly, feels the gentle heartbeat against her tongue, sucks tentatively at the spot. Gwendolyn’s own hips buck up rather suddenly, nearly unseating Mildred. 

They both pull back, gasping for air. After a moment, Gwendolyn lifts her head to stare at Mildred. “I’d ask where you learned that,” she rasps, “but I’m pretty sure I pulled that on you yesterday.” 

Mildred giggles. Gwendolyn pats her butt, and she scoots back until she can brace herself to stand. “Have you eaten?” she asks. 

Gwendolyn rakes her eyes over Mildred for a moment. “Mmm.”

“Gwendolyn,” Mildred half-laughs, covering her chest with her arms. “Food?”

“Oh, yes,” Gwendolyn says, shaking her head slightly. “Right, food, you must be starving.” She pushes herself up off the chair, guides Mildred to standing as the younger woman slides off her lap. “I’m afraid I don’t have bologna.”

Mildred snorts. “I think I’d much rather have some pasta right now. Or some soup.” 

“Pasta I’ve got, soup I do not,” Gwendolyn says, skating her fingers over Mildred’s waist as she passes. 

The rest of the night is fairly quiet, though Gwendolyn does reveal she has a doctor’s appointment next Wednesday with one of the oncologists Mildred had found as the round the corner up the stairs. The admission has Mildred flying into Gwendolyn’s arms; they stumble backwards towards the bed, Mildred placing kiss after kiss to anywhere she can reach on Gwendolyn’s face, until Gwendolyn finally has Mildred trapped under her on the bed. 

“If you want me to make it to that appointment, you’ll have to let me breathe,” Gwendolyn chides softly, and Mildred giggles against her. 

In the morning, she wakes before Gwendolyn, turning over to blink in the curtain-softened morning sunlight. Gwendolyn’s half-covered by the sheets, her hands tucked up by her face, lips parted as she breathes deeply. Her hair is illuminated, gold and red strands glowing in the sun, casting the gentlest of shadows over her face. 

Mildred’s chest is tight at the sight, and her fingers itch to touch, but she’s worried about waking Gwendolyn up. She knows she rises early, even on her days off— it’s a habit borne out of years of avoiding hands coming down on her for forgetting chores, then never having a day of leave with the military, then searching for Edmund. 

But Gwendolyn’s eyes blink open under her gaze, her lips pressing shut as she swallows. Her eyes widen for a brief moment before her face breaks into a sleepy grin and a raspy “Hi” leaves her lips. 

Mildred has to swallow around a burst of love before she replies with a shy little “Hello.” 

Gwendolyn’s hand reaches for her and she grasps it, brings it to her lips without thinking. Gwendolyn closes her eyes for a moment. Mildred can’t tear her eyes away. 

“What are you looking at?” Gwendolyn murmurs, a hint of self-consciousness in her sleepy tone. 

“You’re beautiful,” Mildred breathes, and that’s as loud as she can be with the sight before. Gwendolyn huffs affectionately and turns to rest on her back, hand still in Mildred’s. 

Gwendolyn proposes a drive down to Jade Cove as they putter around the kitchen, and Mildred readily agrees. The paper has no update on the winery from the last edition Mildred had read, but it has news of a court case releasing a child from the custody of the foster system at 17. Gwendolyn’s hand tightens on her thigh when she breathes in sharply at the headline. She slips her hand into Gwendolyn’s, hides her mouth and nose against Gwendolyn’s shoulder as she reads. 

The Cove is practically empty when they get there, and Gwendolyn doesn’t hesitate to walk down to the water. Mildred watches her go, shucking off her shoes quickly, burying her toes in the sandy mud at the water line. The smile on her face is contagious. 

Her chest tightens again as she remembers the doctor’s appointment on Wednesday, the reasons behind it, the fear. The panic rises. She suddenly can’t bear to be apart from her, scared that if she takes her eyes away, Gwendolyn will simply disappear out to the ocean and she’ll be alone again. So she bolts down to the shore, brushes their fingers together. 

Gwendolyn looks over to her with a little look of confusion on her face, but she smiles and says “Take off your shoes if you don’t want to lose them.” 

The water at the cove is cold, but the walk is a nice one, and Mildred does like the feeling of the ground under her feet. They manage to find a spot where they’ll be guarded from view by outcroppings of rocks, water lapping gently at their feet as Mildred presses Gwendolyn up against a cliff, lips hungry and hands demanding. Gwendolyn hisses in a breath, but she tugs Mildred closer, hands holding her steady. “What’s gotten into you?” she asks against Mildred’s lips. 

Mildred doesn’t respond, just keeps pushing. She has to do this, has to at least get close to it, because if Gwendolyn goes she has to make sure there is at least one thing she can hold on to. She can feel the fear of it all— the loss, grieving again, of failing Gwendolyn, of being alone again— rising in her throat, clamping her jaw shut. 

They’re startled apart by the happy screams of children nearby, and Mildred’s heart thuds in her chest. Gwendolyn reaches for her, thumbs away the smudges on her lip. She doesn’t ask what had happened and Mildred is grateful. 

The drive home that afternoon is quiet for a while. Gwendolyn clears her throat, then says, “You know, I was wondering…”

She drifts off and Mildred turns from the window to look at her, touching her thigh lightly as she presses her lips together nervously. 

“Well, I’ve liked having you next to me, these past few nights, and I’ve plenty of room, so I was wondering—“ she cuts herself off to glance at Mildred. “I was wondering if you’d like to move in.”

“Yes,” Mildred says before she thinks. Gwendolyn does a double take at her. “I— yes, I think I would.”

“Oh.” A smile spreads across Gwendolyn’s face. “Well, alright then.”

“I have another suitcase in my room,” Mildred says. “We could go back to the motel— I can pack everything up and check out now.” 

Gwendolyn moves a hand from the wheel and covers Mildred’s hand with hers. “Sure, darling.” 

So they do. Gwendolyn uses the outside entrance to her room, then waits in the car while Mildred checks out. Louise asks her questions about where she’s going, how she got the money for a house, whether the resident from number 8 has got her shacked up somewhere. Mildred bristles, but decides not to snap at Louise. It’s just not worth it today. 

Unpacking seems so easy, once she’s home— and she gets to call this place _home_ now. Gwendolyn hands her hangers, folds her sweaters and night things in among her own, rolls her stockings up and places them in the middle shelf. She lets Mildred unpack her own underthings, mercifully, and the stacks of papers she’s collected over the years for Edmund. She stares at them, gets lost in her head for a while before Gwendolyn’s hand on her shoulder shakes her loose. 

“I think,” she murmurs, looking up at Gwendolyn, “that I can get rid of at least some of these.” 

Gwendolyn’s smile is soothing. 

There’s something about seeing Mildred’s toothbrush next to hers that sets Gwendolyn off, and Mildred watches Gwendolyn kiss at her neck in the mirror as she leans back into Gwendolyn’s arms. Gwendolyn hits a ticklish spot near the top of her shoulder and she yelps, shoulders jerking up— Gwendolyn grunts in surprise and Mildred giggles wildly, turning in Gwendolyn’s arms and kissing her soundly. 

They stumble back out into the bedroom, and Mildred tugs Gwendolyn towards the bed until the backs of her legs hit it. Gwendolyn pulls back, asks, “You sure?” 

There’s heat in her voice, and the heat spreads through Mildred’s body until it’s almost uncomfortable. “Yes. Take this off.” She tugs at the cardigan Gwendolyn had slipped on before they left for the beach. It’s readily shed, and then she’s being pushed gently back onto the bed. Mildred keeps tugging at clothes, pulls Gwendolyn’s button-up from her pants, manages to undo the belt buckle and pull the belt part of the way out before Gwendolyn pins her hand down. 

“Slow down,” Gwendolyn murmurs, “no rush.” 

But there is a rush. Mildred needs to know— she needs to know what it feels like to have Gwendolyn’s body pressed against hers, to have Gwendolyn consume her, to consume Gwendolyn, to make sure there’s still something good, make sure Gwendolyn isn’t going to leave her. She needs to know that she can keep Gwendolyn here. 

“Touch me,” she demands, and Gwendolyn pulls back for a moment, looks into Mildred’s eyes. “Please, Gwendolyn.” 

Gwendolyn leans back down, dragging her mouth against Mildred’s skin, her fingers skating up the side of Mildred’s legs before skipping her thigh completely, moving to her hips, up over her ribs. Her thumb makes contact with Mildred’s breast and Mildred gasps as what feels like a bolt of electricity shoots through her. 

“Alright?”

“Yes,” Mildred hisses, wriggling to try and get her to do that again. Gwendolyn smiles, presses a chaste little kiss to Mildred’s lips. When her hand soothes over the spot again Mildred feels like she could scream. Gwendolyn shifts above her, and then her other hand brushes against the neglected breast, and Mildred moans, almost immediately flushing at the sound. 

“That’s good,” Gwendolyn says, and Mildred shifts her hips, looking for friction. God, she wants. 

Gwendolyn’s mouth returns to hers, and she opens her lips willingly, feels that heat wash over her as Gwendolyn’s tongue dips into her mouth. Her hand moves to Mildred’s thigh again, and Mildred lets her legs fall apart, creating a space for Gwendolyn to center herself. 

The hand moves up slowly, caressing soothingly and gripping once or twice when Mildred figures out how to use her tongue. 

Mildred’s mind starts to race— she doesn’t know how to do this. Is she just supposed to lie still? Should she be helping Gwendolyn? Should her hand be on Gwendolyn’s thigh rather than around her shoulders? Should she be making more noise or less noise? This has to be perfect, what if something happens on Wednesday and Gwendolyn just doesn’t come home, she can’t have their only time be anything less than perfect. 

She can feel her breath speeding up to an unpleasant rate, but she can’t stop her thoughts. What if Gwendolyn is just humouring her? What if lesbians don’t actually— do any of this unless they’re ill? What if she’s broken and Gwendolyn is just going along for pity’s sake? 

Gwendolyn’s hand moves up again, brushing against the fabric of Mildred’s panties where they cover her hip, and Mildred can’t breathe. 

Then suddenly, her hand is gone, and relief shoots through Mildred. It’s quickly followed by guilt, and then the fizzling out of that warmth she’d started to feel building.

“Why’d you stop?” she asks, and she doesn’t sound the kind of breathless she knows she’s supposed to.

“Because you don’t want to do this,” Gwendolyn answers. She’s staring at Mildred, eyebrows furrowed, but her expression is confusing. She shifts so that her legs are to the side of Mildred’s, and Mildred snaps her own together. 

“No, I do, I—“

“I’m not mad, sweetheart,” Gwendolyn murmurs, moving up to sit next to her. “I promise. I’m not even disappointed. I’m just...worried.”

Ice shoots through Mildred’s veins. Of course, she’s disappointed Gwendolyn, she hasn’t done enough or been enough. 

“I can do this,” Mildred protests, trying to move to Gwendolyn’s lap, but the older woman holds her hips down before she can go anywhere. 

“You don’t have to,” Gwendolyn murmurs, leans forward to press a kiss to Mildred’s forehead. “Honestly, Mildred, I will wait as long as it takes.”

Mildred bites her lip, tears welling up in her eyes, and Gwendolyn lets out a soft cooing sound before pulling her close. “What if we don’t have that long?” Mildred asks. 

“I thought you were going to cure me?” Gwendolyn jokes. 

“Gwendolyn, please.” Her voice breaks. Gwendolyn presses another kiss to her temple. Tears start to roll down her cheeks. 

Gwendolyn is silent for a few moments, rocking Mildred back and forth. “When you were at war,” she starts finally, “were you afraid?”

“What?” She looks up at Gwendolyn, is met with raised eyebrows and patient waiting. “Yes, I was terrified.”

“Did you hide in your bunk?”

“N-no?”

“Mmm. You went and attended to those soldiers, right?” 

“…yes.” She’s not making the connection yet, and she hopes Gwendolyn will just tell her rather than make her work it out herself. 

“You know how to be brave, then,” Gwendolyn says, leans down and presses a kiss to her temple. “Sweetheart, I’m scared too.”

Of course she is. Mildred kicks herself. Of course Gwendolyn is scared, she should be reassuring her, not the other way around. 

“But if you’re here, it’s easier for me to be brave.” The words hit Mildred like a kick in the chest. “I can face this if you stand by me. I’m already trying to see new doctors, aren’t I?” Mildred is still breathless, so she nods silently instead. “So we have time. And I can wait.”

“I should be able to do this,” Mildred mumbles. 

“Should you?” Gwendolyn smiles. Mildred looks up at her again. “It doesn’t matter what you should be able to do, really. I would be happy to just lay here and kiss you for the rest of my life. I just want you to feel good.”

It’s a particularly vulnerable statement, and Mildred bites her lip against fresh tears. She’s never…

“I’ve never had anyone be this good to me,” she breathes. Gwendolyn drops her forehead to rest against Mildred’s with a sigh. 

“I know, and I wish that weren’t true, believe me.” They both close their eyes, and Gwendolyn brings her hands up to Mildred’s face to brush away the tears. “But let me treat you right.” 

So Mildred does. She lets Gwendolyn hold her for a while, clings to her, tries to press as close as she can. Gwendolyn lets her. 

The rest of the day is spent cuddling in bed, and Mildred laments that she’s going to have to go into work the next day. And as scared as she’d been earlier, she doesn’t want Gwendolyn anywhere that isn’t within arm’s reach. It’s almost as if she’s afraid that if she can’t touch Gwendolyn, she’ll just disappear. 

In the morning, Gwendolyn wakes to Mildred’s alarm. The younger woman groans as she smacks at the offending clock, and Gwendolyn chuckles. “I’ll go get the coffee on,” she says, leaning over to press a quick kiss to Mildred’s lips. Mildred quickly wraps a hand around the back of her neck, holds her close for a moment. 

“Thank you.”

She’s already reading the paper by the time Mildred comes downstairs, completely dressed for work and all done up. She finishes fastening her earring as Gwendolyn holds out a mug. “What’s the news today?” she asks, sitting next to Gwendolyn and sipping at her coffee. Gwendolyn starts to list off the articles she’s already read, shifting the paper to one hand and reaching out with her other arm to rest atop Mildred’s far thigh. 

Mildred misses her all day. She’s relieved that she doesn’t have to ask if she can come over, just gets to go home to her Gwendolyn. She stops at the store, picks up some chicken to cook up for dinner, and it strikes her just how natural this all feels. When she gets home she’s met with wet-haired Gwendolyn, who explains she’d gone swimming earlier. 

They cook dinner together, and afterwards Gwendolyn tugs Mildred to the couch, where she tucks the younger woman against her and reads to her from the novel she’s been reading. It makes Mildred sleepy, exhausted from the long day. 

On Monday, she nearly calls Gwendolyn to let her know that she’s going to be ridiculously late. By the time she gets home she’s nearly asleep at the wheel, but she lets Gwendolyn shove food at her, push her into the shower, and then pull her into bed. 

On Tuesday, things get heated. She slips her hands under Gwendolyn’s shirt, and Gwendolyn hurries to unbutton the thing, and good God, her skin is so soft and warm and delicious when she bends to taste it. And she loves the sounds that Gwendolyn is making. It’s like music. When Gwendolyn’s hands creep under her skirt, she doesn’t mind; she rather likes it, actually, and arches up into the touch as her fingers skip over Mildred’s hips. She pushes her breasts into Gwendolyn’s hands when the fingers skirt up towards her shoulders. 

When Gwendolyn’s hands tuck into the waistband of Mildred’s skirt, Mildred puts a hand against the middle of Gwendolyn’s chest. “Wait,” she breathes, and Gwendolyn stops immediately. “Not tonight. Please?”

Gwendolyn smiles, a true, genuine smile, and the kiss she presses to Mildred’s lips is so sweet it takes her breath away. “Of course. Do you want to stop?”

“No,” Mildred admits. “Just…not that.” 

Gwendolyn tucks her face into Mildred’s neck and Mildred can feel her grin. 

Wednesday is scary. 

Mildred clings to Gwendolyn’s hand on the drive to the appointment, trying to keep her own breath even. When the doctor shoots a questioning look in Mildred’s direction, Gwendolyn covers quickly. “This is my friend, Mildred. She’s a nurse.”

The doctor nods. “That could actually be very useful, Mrs Briggs, if she’s willing to stay with you. The treatment I’d like to try is rather aggressive. Having a nurse on hand could ease your mind a great deal.” 

They set up a follow-up appointment to further discuss treatment. There are steps he wants her to take before they start the chemotherapy, a little weight he wants her to put on in both fat and muscle. Mildred won’t be able to attend that one, so it morphs into a quick weight-check and revision of plans if necessary. They thank the doctor, and Gwendolyn lasts all of five minutes back on the road before she’s got tears in her eyes and pulls over. 

Mildred holds her face in her hands, presses their foreheads together, murmuring “It’s alright, I’ve got you. Did you hear him? He’s got a plan. We have a plan to follow, we’re going to beat this. I’ve got you and I won’t let you go. I love you, Gwendolyn, I love you.” 

Eventually Gwendolyn calms, though Mildred insists she drive the rest of the way home. Gwendolyn lets her. 

She lets Mildred herd her inside, too, marvels at how quickly Mildred has taken to her home, now moving around the place as if she’s always been there. She makes hot chocolate and spikes it with some of the good cognac, and it’s good, but Mildred moves away from her while she sips at it. She disappears and then Gwendolyn hears water running, some shuffling around upstairs. 

“Come here,” Mildred says from halfway up the stairs, and Gwendolyn pushes herself up, goes to her. Mildred smiles softly, takes her hand and kisses it, then leads her into the bathroom. 

She’s pulled Gwendolyn a bath, and it smells of lavender and something earthy like oatmeal. A burst of love swells in her chest and she turns to Mildred. Mildred’s toeing at the floor shyly, like she isn’t sure she’s done well, and Gwendolyn has to reach out and touch her. 

She pulls Mildred close by the face, presses one kiss, two kisses, three kisses to her lips. “Thank you, darling, that’s very kind of you.”

Mildred shakes her head, effectively rubbing the tips of their noses together. “You get comfortable,” she murmurs, “I’ll go get your hot chocolate.” 

Gwendolyn strips, folding her clothes over the sink, and slips into the bathwater. Her muscles instantly relax and she closes her eyes against the comfort of it. A few moments later Mildred has entered, slipping the still-warm mug into Gwendolyn’s fingers with a kiss to her temple. “Don’t let the water get too cold,” she hums against Gwendolyn’s skin, “don’t want you catching something in here.” Gwendolyn hums in response. 

She’s not sure how long it is before she’s tipping back an empty mug, before the water is starting to turn a bit cool, but she eventually relents and lifts herself from the water. Mildred has left her a fuzzy robe to slip into, and her heart flutters. Mildred is so good to her. 

She emerges from the bathroom to the smells of Mildred’s cooking, and if she’d thought she couldn’t soften any more, she’s delighted to find herself wrong. There are onions caramelizing and she thinks there might be toast being made in the pan. It smells delicious. 

When she comes downstairs, Mildred tosses her a bright smile over her shoulder. “Dinner is a little bit like breakfast tonight,” she says, and Gwendolyn wraps her arms around Mildred’s waist, tucks herself in close. Mildred leans back into her. She half-heartedly swats at the fingers that play with the tie on Mildred’s nightgown. 

Dinner is good. Mildred reads to Gwendolyn when they’re finished cleaning up, stumbling slightly over the poetry she’s got in front of her. Mildred presses kisses to her temple, her cheek, her jaw, and soon the kisses pressed to her neck have more to do with the stumbling than this being the first time Mildred has read the book. Eventually the book slips from her hands as she grips at Gwendolyn’s thighs that bracket her in. 

She turns in Gwendolyn’s arms and Gwendolyn is delighted, and Mildred feels like she’s burning, needs to be closer, to consume. She lurches forward to kiss her. She slips her fingers inside Gwendolyn’s robes and whimpers at finding only bare skin. 

“God, Mildred,” Gwendolyn breathes, and Mildred shudders. 

“Take mine off,” Mildred breathes back, their mouths sliding together as she does. Gwendolyn lets out a sound of surprise, of questioning, and Mildred nips at her. “Take it off, please.” 

Gwendolyn reaches up, pulls at the tie, and the nightgown falls away from her skin. Gwendolyn runs her fingertips over her skin hungrily, and Mildred shudders, presses closer. 

Gwendolyn knows Mildred is shy, has never so much as changed in front of her, but she just has to see, so she pulls back. 

There’s an angry red line that slashes across Mildred’s torso, starting near the bottom of Mildred’s right breast, thicker than a cigar, tapering off to a point just before her left hip. Her eyes skate down to find a cluster of dark circles at the very top of Mildred’s left thigh, dots she immediately identifies as scars from cigarette burns. There’s another welt-looking once-gash on her right hip, a spot far below that where Gwendolyn wonders if a bone had come through her mid thigh to leave it all puckered like that. 

There’s marks on Mildred’s body from where people hurt a poor, defenseless, blameless girl. It makes Gwendolyn’s blood run cold, and she wants to cry from it, it hurts her to imagine Mildred in pain from these wounds. In Gwendolyn’s dreams, Mildred doesn’t have to suffer these harms, and she doesn’t know why she wouldn’t have expected this, but facing the reality hurts. 

She doesn’t realize just how long she’s been frozen until Mildred is shifting uncomfortably, pushing herself up and off of her. “Oh, _Mildred,_ ” she breathes, and Mildred freezes. 

“Oh God,” Mildred breathes, and then she’s covering herself, scrambling away. 

“No, darling, wait—“ 

But it’s too late, Mildred is backing away from her, eyes darting everywhere, arms around her torso. “God, I’m sorry, I should— oh—“ Mildred is stumbling over her words, tears welling in her eyes. 

“Mildred, it’s alright, I promise, please come here.” Gwendolyn knows she’s begging as she does the tie on her robe loosely. “Sweetheart, I’m not—“ 

“No, don’t make excuses,” Mildred says, and it’s a bit shrill, a bit too quick, and she’s got her nightgown wrapped tightly around her. 

“They’re— Mildred, I’m not going to make excuses, will you please come here?” 

“No!” she squeaks, and then she’s up the stairs like horses out of a gate at a race. There’s stumbling, and a yelp or two, and Gwendolyn feels her heart skip a beat with worry. 

“Mildred!” 

She can’t get up the stairs fast enough before their bedroom door slams shut. 

She thumps her head against the door. This isn’t what she’d wanted. This had been going so well, and this isn’t what she’d wanted for their first time. Not for her, but more importantly, not for Mildred. 

But life is rarely what you want it to be, is it? 

Mildred, on the other hand, clutches at her nightgown, torn between ripping it off and dressing and running into the night, and keeping it on and hiding for the rest of the night. She hears the thump on the door and yelps, rushes to the door and locks it before she can think twice. She collapses on the bed, huddling into herself. 

And she can’t help that she’s broken. She can’t help that she’s got ugly marks from a past she can’t erase. She can’t help that someone touched her before Gwendolyn, that someone ruined the good parts of her. 

She wishes it were different— that she’d grown up happy, that she hadn’t been so weak, that she could have fought back. She wishes she could live up to what Gwendolyn is used to. 

But Gwendolyn doesn’t want that— she doesn’t want the lovers she’s had before. And she wishes she could make Mildred listen to her. She wants to tell her:

Even with marred skin, even with aches that go down to the bone on days when the weather shifts too fast, even with all the fear and shame that rattles her— Mildred is the sun. She is the moon. She is the first flower to bloom at the beginning of spring; the first to emerge from brutality and pain. She’s still the most beautiful thing Gwendolyn has ever seen, scars and all. 

But Mildred wishes she could burn the scars off. She claws at her own skin with the pads of her fingers, wishing she could tear them away. She wishes she could make herself whole, and pretty, and unscathed, for this woman who’s more than she deserves. She wishes she hadn’t pulled Gwendolyn into her orbit, so Gwendolyn could have someone who is perfect. And she’s sorry she did. 

Gwendolyn waits, pleading quietly at the door to be let in. She wishes she could pound on the door— the rage, the fear, the panic coursing through her body demands an outlet; she wishes she could go back in time, make the people who hurt Mildred suffer. But she can’t, and she can’t let that show when it would do nothing but scare Mildred further. Instead, she fights down the instinct to find the key she’s got somewhere, force the door open. She can’t do what everyone else has done to Mildred, force their way into her space, put her in more danger, take away that sense of security. She wants Mildred to feel safe with her— she can’t force her way in. 

So she presses her ear to the door as hard as she can. If Mildred does open the door, she knows she’ll fall onto the woman, but she has to know. Is Mildred crying? Is she alright? Is she even in the room, or had she done something stupid like jumped out of the second story window in her panic? Fear courses through her at the thought— God, what if she’s driven Mildred to hurt herself? What if Mildred is trapped in some dark mental place and literally can’t move? She should be finding the key to this door, not waiting for the worst, she should be doing something, not standing here useless— 

But then the door opens, and it takes everything in Gwendolyn not to reach out and crush Mildred to her. And it takes everything in her to stay standing when she realizes there are tears in Mildred’s eyes, on her cheeks. 

Mildred’s changed clothes. She’s put on Gwendolyn’s pajamas, the set that covers nearly everything head to toe. It would be cute another time, if Gwendolyn didn’t know why she’d changed. But they’re still her pajamas; Mildred still put on her clothes, and that had to be a good sign. 

She reaches out to touch her arms, and for a moment, Mildred tenses up. 

It’s a scary moment. But it passes quickly; Mildred relaxes and Gwendolyn squeezes gently. 

Even if Mildred is covering herself in every way possible, she’s still in Gwendolyn’s clothes. She’s covered, but she allows the touch. She’s let some of those walls come down. 

“Please don’t lock me out, Mildred,” Gwendolyn breathes. “I know it’s scary, I know it’s hard, just— please let me sit with you in it.” Mildred isn’t looking up at her, and she doesn’t want to push that. But she wants Mildred to believe her. 

“You don’t deserve that,” Mildred says quietly. Almost so quietly that Gwendolyn doesn’t hear it. But she does, in the stillness of the night, in the ache of it all. And she knows it’s not just about sitting with her in the darkness. 

“You don’t have to,” Mildred says, and it’s a crushing mixture of the colder Nurse Ratched and her own Mildred. “It’s not yours.” 

“But I want it,” Gwendolyn says, “I want to share it with you, I want to show you, to…” She fades off. There’s a lot she’d like to do, but it’s all so new, and not all of this can be spoken out loud. 

Mildred’s eyes lift to hers, and a tear rolls down her cheek. Gwendolyn reaches up to brush it away without thinking, and Mildred leans into the touch without thinking, and none of it is fixed, but it might be a little better. 

“Let me make you some tea,” Gwendolyn says, sliding her hands down to hold Mildred’s. “Chamomile?” 

She tugs slightly, and Mildred moves after her, so she makes her way downstairs with Mildred’s fingers in hers. 

“You don’t have to,” Mildred says again as they enter the kitchen. 

“I want to,” Gwendolyn repeats. She wonders if she’ll ever be able to get Mildred to believe that. That Gwendolyn wants her, all of her. 

Mildred stands— clueless, trapped, her head all spun around itself— in the middle of the kitchen as Gwendolyn starts the kettle. She’s still there by the time Gwendolyn’s found the mug and teabag. So she turns, grasps Mildred’s hands in hers, brings her closer to the stove, closer to warmth— her skin is so chilled. 

She turns back to the stove, switching with hand holds each of Mildred’s behind her back as she does, and then tugs lightly. Mildred lets out a little confused sound, and Gwendolyn tugs again, saying, “Come here.” 

She guides Mildred's arms around her, covers them with her own, tries to stay relaxed as Mildred's front starts to press up against her hesitantly. Eventually Mildred gives in, her forehead bumping up against the back of Gwendolyn's head, arms tightening ever so slightly. 

"I don't do any of this out of duty," Gwendolyn murmurs, the sound of the kettle building. "Or because I think I ought to, or because I pity you.” Mildred inhales lightly. Gwendolyn knows she's probably biting her lip, and she wishes Mildred would stop that, she's going to give herself a permanent sore that way. "I don't love your past," Gwendolyn admits, resting a hand over Mildred's arm. "I don't love it because it hurt you, because it didn't give you what you deserve."

“But it—“ 

"No," Gwendolyn cuts her off. "No, see, it taught you that you deserve that, but--" she swallows against the tide of emotions that wash over her, the rage, the sadness, the love. "You don't, Mildred. You don't deserve to hurt, and I'm sorry no one's told you that before. I'm sorry you weren't ever told just how amazing you are. I'm sorry that people abandoned you, left you out, betrayed you."

Mildred might be shaking again, or it might be her. The kettle is dangerously close to whistling, so she turns the burner off, pours the steaming water into the mug, takes a deep breath. 

"I have no intention of ever letting that happen to you again."

It's a darker sound than she would have liked. She's worried Mildred will hear the threat in it, will think the threat is for her, not for the rest of the world. Mildred's body gives one great shake against her back, and Gwendolyn risks turning around, and Mildred is crying again.

But Mildred doesn't shrink from her, at least. Instead, she buries her head in the crook of Gwendolyn's neck, and Gwendolyn wraps her arms tight around her, listens to the great gasps of breath, the silent wails that don't come out.

"I won't let anything happen to you," she murmurs, nuzzling against Mildred's hair and pressing a kiss there. "I promise. I won't let anything happen."

And they've said it before, but Gwendolyn feels like it's more important this time, like maybe it'll convince Mildred when she says it. "I love you." She presses another kiss.

Another kiss, another confession of love, and again the bar repeats, until there's barely any sound in the kitchen but quiet breaths and little whispers. Until Mildred, tiny as she is, is heavy against her, exhausted, until it's mostly just hiccups from her now. Until she's let out all the pain she can in that moment. So much of it, but there's so, so much more, Gwendolyn knows.

Gwendolyn figures Mildred is probably too tired for tea right now. Which is fine— it's just tea. It's not anything important, not like this. “Can you walk, sweetheart?” she asks. She shifts her hold just a little, and Mildred whines, whimpers, presses her face further into Gwendolyn's neck.

"Alright, well, we can't sleep on the kitchen floor," she half-laughs. "Can I pick you up?"

She feels Mildred blink against her neck. "Wh...what?"

"I can pick you up and carry you upstairs," Gwendolyn says.

And Mildred actually pulls back enough to look at her then, incredulous. Gwendolyn's half amused, half insulted by the look. “You can what?” 

Gwendolyn chuckles. "Would you like me to show you?"

“Gwendolyn.” The tone is still disbelieving, and Gwendolyn can’t help taking it as a challenge. She scoops Mildred up, an arm under her knees and the other around her back. Mildred shrieks, arms tightening around Gwendolyn's neck. And Gwendolyn can't help laughing.

She bounces Mildred in her arms lightly— half to genuinely readjust her, half to tease her— and Mildred gasps. She starts to move towards the stairs, and Mildred begins to giggle. It starts quietly, but it builds until they're at the foot of the stairs, and Mildred is truly laughing, face still buried in Gwendolyn's neck, arms tight around her. "I could deposit you right here," Gwendolyn mutters, but it's clear from her tone that she's joking.

"Nooo," Mildred squeals, holding her tighter.

“Okay, fine, don’t choke me!” 

She carries Mildred up the stairs, shoves the door out of her way with her shoulder. She battles inwardly for a moment with whether to toss Mildred or lay her down. Tossing can happen another day, she decides.

She lays Mildred down on her side of the bed, a hand cupping the back of her head tenderly. Eventually her fingers slide from under Mildred's hair; she skates those fingers along Mildred's jaw before reaching down to tuck her legs under the blankets. She's delicate about it, careful. No one has ever been careful with Mildred, and if she thinks too long on that, Gwendolyn will get angry again. So she doesn't. Those people don't matter now. Only Mildred matters now.

Mildred watches her the whole time, baffled into silence by the care. She doesn't understand this part of Gwendolyn. She wants to know all of Gwendolyn, everything, but she doesn't understand how Gwendolyn can do all this.

Gwendolyn only gets into bed when Mildred reaches for her, reaching for the lamp while she does. Gwendolyn reaches for her in the dark, and Mildred can't help but move into her grasp. She rarely can— Gwendolyn is like a magnet, always pulling her in. Mildred is the moth to her flame.

And she can't help it from tumbling out of her mouth. "I'm sorry, Gwendolyn."

Gwendolyn snorts. "There's nothing for you to be sorry about.” A pause, and then, "We can try again later."

Mildred nods silently. There's a kiss to her forehead, and then she hears, "I love you, Mildred, please don't forget that."

"I love you too." There's a pause. "You deserve better," Mildred says, even now. "You could have so much more."

"Not possible. There's nothing and no one who is more than you."

Mildred thinks it's a lie. Gwendolyn knows it's the truth.

"Try and get some sleep, sweetheart.” Mildred's heart still picks up every time Gwendolyn calls her a pet name.

They'll try again later. The sex isn't her main concern though, it never is. She'll try again later to make Mildred believe her.

"Stay?" Mildred asks, as if she's not wrapped around Gwendolyn. As if she hasn’t completely taken over Gwendolyn’s heart, as if this home isn’t already hers. 

"Nowhere else I'd rather be," Gwendolyn murmurs back, presses a kiss to her forehead. She’ll tell Mildred she's staying for as long as she has to, that she'll always stay, there's no question there. It feels good, knowing Mildred needs her, that she can ask. But Gwendolyn still wishes she didn't have to ask.

"Okay," Mildred whispers, and there's sleep heavy in her voice.

It's not long before Mildred really is asleep, her breath cycling in and out smoothly. The adrenaline hasn't quite left Gwendolyn's body— she could probably use that tea, really— so she traces little circles in the fabric of her own pajamas over Mildred's skin. Her mind won't settle. But Mildred's breath helps. Knowing she's here and calm, finally. Safe. 

Gwendolyn's always been ambitious. She was a woman in politics, she had to be. She always wanted more, to be more, to do more. Now all she wants is Mildred; to keep Mildred safe, make her know that she is. It's hard to imagine Gwendolyn ever wanting anything else.

When she falls asleep, finally, she dreams.

She dreams of Mildred, smiling at her from above, her own head tilted back to stare up at her with reverence. She dreams of Mildred's laugh, all clothed in silks and linens and shining things, a delightful sound in contrast to the concentration she's holding, watching for malefactors. She dreams of hushed moments in a lavish chamber, armor and finery shed, bed soft and guarding them from the rest of the world.

Mildred doesn't laugh enough, even now. Sometimes she seems surprised by her own laugh, like she doesn't recognize the sound. She's self-conscious about it sometimes, like she's afraid Gwendolyn will mock the sound. As if Gwendolyn could ever mock anything about Mildred, her taste for bologna aside. She wants Mildred to feel safe to laugh and love, and do all the things denied her for so long.

And maybe, if she tries hard enough, she can make Mildred believes she deserves that.

She doesn’t push, the next morning, just makes Mildred’s coffee, waits for her to come downstairs dressed for work. And she does; she accepts the coffee that’s been left on the table, sits by Gwendolyn’s side, tucking her chin atop Gwendolyn’s shoulder. 

“What’s the news today?”

And Gwendolyn grins. 

The next two days feel like a blur— Mildred has long hours at the hospital, and Gwendolyn is regularly visiting the ocean to swim and take long walks, build up her muscle. So when Saturday hits, Gwendolyn is expecting a quiet day at home, maybe they’ll go and see a movie.

She wakes up to find Mildred staring at her, eyes wide like they’d been the first morning after she’d moved in. “Good morning,” she rasps as Mildred’s hand moves to her cheek. 

“You’re so…” Mildred seems to lose the ability to speak for a moment, thumb caressing over Gwendolyn’s skin, and she has half a mind to blush. 

“Are you going to call me beautiful when I’m this much of a mess again?” she teases. 

Mildred frowns. “You’re not a mess in the morning.” 

“Oh, sweetheart, I am,” she laughs, rolling to her back and stretching. She feels the bed dip next to her, and then warmth around and over her hips, and when she opens her eyes Mildred is straddling her. 

“You’re not. You glow.” 

“Do I, now?” Gwendolyn murmurs, reaching up to tuck errant hairs behind Mildred’s ears. “Is that so?” 

“Yes,” Mildred breathes, and her eyes are flicking to Gwendolyn’s lips. Gwendolyn feels her own breath hitch. 

_Oh._

And then Mildred’s lips are on hers, and she’s holding Mildred’s hips in place, bending her legs to give Mildred something to push back against. And Mildred does— she grinds down, back, and her hands roam all over Gwendolyn’s body as Gwendolyn tangles a hand in her hair, the other falling to her thigh. 

Gwendolyn had worn a nightgown to bed last night— a rare occurrence, one brought on mostly by the need to do laundry, but one she’s now grateful for. Mildred’s hands slip under where it’s been rucked up by her hips, slide up Gwendolyn’s body, fingers digging in as she moves them back down. Gwendolyn is stunned by her sudden courage. 

Mildred is, too. She’s not entirely sure what’s come over her, but she knows she wants Gwendolyn, and she knows she wants her now, and she’s not afraid. She’s practically on fire, but she’s not afraid. She grabs the hem of Gwendolyn’s nightgown and starts to pull up. 

Gwendolyn sits up against her and the press of their bodies together feels downright heavenly— for a moment, Mildred forgets she’s trying to take off Gwendolyn’s clothes, just tilts her hips forward and breathes Gwendolyn in. But Gwendolyn is quick to help, and soon it’s bare skin on silk, and Mildred could stare at Gwendolyn in the sunlight, bare before her, all day. 

But she wants to touch more. 

So she leans down, presses an open-mouthed kiss to Gwendolyn’s collarbone, delights in the shiver that earns her. She’s a bit clumsy with it and she knows it, but she presses a kiss anywhere she can reach, uses her teeth against the crook of Gwendolyn’s neck. She feels Gwendolyn’s fingers slip under her own gown, grinds her hips down, pulls back long enough to say, “Take it off me.”

Gwendolyn blinks at her. “Are you—“

“Yes!” 

Gwendolyn is quick to comply, and then Mildred is demanding to be touched, and Gwendolyn can’t deny her that. 

Mildred shudders at the touch of her fingers on bare skin. They skate all over her skin, and Mildred is writhing on top of Gwendolyn, trying to chase after the touch. Gwendolyn surges up against her, crushing their lips together for a moment before moving to her neck. She finds Mildred’s pulse point, sucks at it, and Mildred cries out, her hands flying to Gwendolyn’s hair. 

Suddenly Mildred is flat against the bed, gasping for air, her legs wrapped around Gwendolyn’s waist. Gwendolyn grinds down against her, mouth at her collarbone, and Mildred moans with it, bucks her hips up towards the sensation. 

“Gwen—“ she can’t finish the word, choking on it, gasping for air. 

“Yes, Mildred?” Her voice is so soft and reassuring, and it makes Mildred shiver again. 

“Please,” she manages to squeak out. 

Gwendolyn’s hands fall to her hipbones, and they fit perfectly there. “Please what?”

“Fuck,” she hisses. “Please, Gwen, please touch me.” 

Gwendolyn is a little surprised at the curse, but she gets over it quickly. Mildred tugs at her hair and she moves back up to kiss her again. “Are you sure?”

Mildred half-groans, half-growls, pushing her hips up towards Gwendolyn. “Yes.” 

Gwendolyn shuts her eyes for a moment, and her hand slides just a bit lower, until it’s covering Mildred’s center. 

Mildred’s hips jerk of their own accord and she gasps. 

“Tell me if you need to stop, and I will, I promise,” Gwendolyn says, leaning down to place a sweet, chaste kiss to Mildred’s lips. She nods. “I need you to tell me if you need to stop.” 

“Yes, I promise, just— _oh—_ ” 

Gwendolyn’s hand presses down, and there’s a spark that comes with the friction there, and Mildred thinks she’s going to die for just a moment. She’s never felt like this, never felt something this good, and it’s so new and so delicious and she just wants more. She’s acutely aware of Gwendolyn watching her face, the older woman’s breathing just as heavy as her own. 

She wishes she could get her brain together enough to pay attention to what Gwendolyn was doing. 

Gwendolyn slips a finger close against her, hisses in at the feel. Mildred whimpers, one hand in Gwendolyn’s hair and the other gripping at her back. “Jesus, Mildred.” There’s a wet sound as her finger moves, and Mildred blushes at it, but then Gwendolyn’s lips are at her throat again and something like an electric shock shoots from her throat all the way down to her center. She writhes against Gwendolyn, and something brushes against her clit and she jerks with a gasp. 

“This shouldn’t hurt,” Gwendolyn murmurs against her ear, scraping her teeth against the lobe, “but you’ll feel some pressure. Okay?” 

Mildred nods her head, and then there’s a finger inside of her, and she gasps and grinds down against it, the palm of Gwendolyn’s hand providing friction that sends a shudder up her body. 

She’s never felt anything like this before. It had never been this way with men. Never this gentle, or loving, or good. 

“Shhh,” Gwendolyn murmurs, presses a kiss to her cheek, and Mildred realizes she’s been writhing again. “Let me help you.” 

Her hand moves, finger going in and out, and Mildred thinks she might be dying. It’s not a bad death, all things considered, but even this much pleasure has to be impossible without dying. “Please, Gwen,” she groans, her body tight against her own skin. 

“What do you need?” she asks softly, hand still moving against her, occasionally bumping against her clit. 

“More,” she gasps. And Gwendolyn grins, presses another kiss to her neck, slips a second finger in beside the first. 

Mildred thinks she might have screamed. Her hips jerk up and she’s left panting, something falling from her lips as she grips harder around Gwendolyn. It takes her a moment to realize what she’s calling— 

“Gwen, Gwen, please, Gwen—“ 

“I’ve got you,” Gwendolyn murmurs, and then her thumb is against Mildred’s clit and Mildred feels her body arch off the bed and against Gwendolyn’s skin. She rubs small circles around the sensitive bud, presses a kiss to Mildred’s temple where sweat has begun to pool.

God, she’s dying. She has to be dying. There’s no way her body can handle this much pleasure. She’s dying, and if Gwendolyn doesn’t stop she’s going to die right in this bed on a Saturday morning before she can even take Gwendolyn on a real date. 

“Let go, baby, I’m right here,” Gwendolyn says, and it shoots through Mildred’s body as she whimpers in reply. “That’s it, you can do it, come for me.”

It’s that, and another brush of Gwendolyn’s thumb, and then Gwendolyn’s fingers curl inside her, and the world goes white and her body is exploding. 

Dying feels good. It’s glorious, actually, and she doesn’t really care that she can’t breathe, or that she thinks she might be screaming, or that her muscles are shaking so much she might just vibrate off the bed. Dying, it turns out, feels very good. 

But then she’s back in her body and shivering on top of the sheets and Gwendolyn’s head is turned away and she’s wiping her hand on something. She whimpers lightly and Gwendolyn whips back around, crawls over her body and cradles her face gently. 

“Hello, sweetheart.” 

Mildred heaves in another breath and wraps her hands around Gwendolyn’s wrists. “What just happened to me?”

Gwendolyn smiles and presses a kiss to her forehead. “You just had an orgasm, darling.” 

“I— _that’s_ what an orgasm feels like?” There’s an almost sad look on Gwendolyn’s face. But she nods. “God, I thought I was dying.” 

Gwendolyn laughs. “You know, the French call it a little death, so…” she rotates a hand to grasp Mildred’s, bring it to her lips and press a kiss to the palm. “You might not be far off there.” 

Mildred tugs at Gwendolyn’s shoulders and Gwendolyn acquiesces, lays herself down next to Mildred, opens her arms for Mildred to shuffle into. She’s still shivering, so Gwendolyn fumbles for the sheets and pulls them up over their bodies. 

“You’ll start to feel pretty hungry in a bit, I bet,” Gwendolyn starts, pressing another kiss to Mildred’s forehead. Mildred tilts up her head, asking for a kiss to the lips, and she gets what she wants. It sends a pleasant buzzing through her. 

“I don’t think I can move,” she admits. 

“Oh, that’ll come back,” Gwendolyn chuckles. 

“Can…can I...?”

Gwendolyn looks confused for a moment, before the realization dawns on her. “We have plenty of time for that,” she says, her face softening. “You just relax a few minutes. It’s barely nine o’clock.” 

Mildred closes her eyes as she tucks herself under Gwendolyn’s chin. Her breathing has started to even out at this point, and she’s got to admit she feels incredibly relaxed. 

“Am I supposed to thank you for that?”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Gwendolyn is practically cackling with laughter. 

Mildred pulls back, incredulous. “What?!” 

Gwendolyn shakes her head, still giggling, tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes. “Nothing, nothing! Oh, I love you.” 

Mildred blushes, lets her press a kiss to her lips. “I love you too. Now what are you laughing at?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well! I hope y'all liked that. Drop me a line in the comments :) <3


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